This one I'll probably finish. I'm very sorry to Mr. Charles Dickens. Thank you for the permission to unleash the power of fanfiction on this classic.

"Once upon a time, in London, on a snowy, sleety, damp Christmas Eve, Ebenezer Scrooge walked down the street, and-"

"Wait, Mommy, it's so much more fun when Daddy's in the story!" giggled the four-year-old Violet Malfoy, bouncing on her father's knee.

"Oh, all right, Vi. But first, you must understand something about Mr. Scrooge before we make Daddy the main character. Scrooge was a hard-hearted, mean, miserly old man, who hated love and joy and shut it all out," Ms. Hermione Malfoy said, in a quiet whisper.

"Mommy, everyone knows that's the perfect description of Daddy!" giggled Violet, snuggling into her father's armchair.

"I love you too, Vi," said her father's voice from behind the Daily Prophet, tousling his daughter's already messy blond curls.

"Shh, Vi. Let me continue. Scrooge was trudging through-"

"NO, Mommy! Malfoy was!"

"Of course, Vi," her mother said, smiling. " Malfoy was trudging through the snow, shoulders hunched, scattering all of the people in his path..."

He was walking towards his work.

Crabbe had been dead to begin with. Dead as a doornail. Seven years tonight, a dreary death. He had been the only mourner, and had never since had the heart to paint his name out on the sign.

So his company was known as Malfoy and Crabbe. Never just Malfoy.

They had been workers, something previously unknown in the pureblood society.

As usual, no child approached him, no beggars asked for a spare Knut, and not even the friendliest hound even glanced his way.

And that was just the way he liked it.

He pulled open the door, a rush of swirling snow following him in.

He stomped over to his desk, past his clerk, Ronald Weasley, who had married his old sweetheart, Pansy Parkinson, who had, in turn, told him to get a real job.

"Oh, Mommy, do you mean Uncle Ron and Auntie Pansy?"

"Yes, Vi. Now shush, do you want to finish this story or not?"

Malfoy sat down in his chair as his clerk shivered slightly.

His customers had often complained about the cold, and when they believed he wasn't listening, spoke about how the cold had seeped into his heart, biting his nose, stiffening his gait, and making him completely indifferent.

Hot or cold did not matter, just as long as he profited. Ever since Crabbe died, he had become extremely tightfisted with the money.

He held it all close to his heart, and nothing else.

With a loud pop, Teddy Lupin apparated into his office. He was Malfoy's first cousin once removed, but chose to call him Uncle.

"A Merry Christmas, Uncle! God save you!" he announced with vigor.

Draco righted his inkwell and once more dipped his quill into it. "Codswallop!"

He once again returned to his work, indifferent once more.

"Oh, but Christmas codswallop, Uncle? I do hope that's meant as a joke," he said.

"Well, it's not. Come, what in Merlin's name do you want? Don't waste all day," he replied, scratching out more numbers onto the yellowed sheets of parchment.

"I only want to wish you a Merry Christmas, Uncle. Don't be cross," Teddy said, hanging a wreath above the doorway.

"Oh, but why shouldn't I be cross when I live in such a world of fools as this?" Draco demanded, standing to retrieve a book from his shelf. "Hah. Merry Christmas. Out with Merry Christmas, I say! What's Christmas but a time for paying bills without money, buying gifts, and finding yourself a year older and not an hour richer! If I could work my will, every single idiot who went about with a 'Merry Christmas' should be boiled in his own plum pudding and buried with a stake of mistleoe through his heart."

"Daddy!" admonished his little girl, smacking him lightly on the arm. "What in Merlin's name is your problem?"

"I blame your mother, honestly," said Draco from behind the Prophet. "She's telling the story, so if you wish for her to change it, be my guest."

"Uncle!" cried Teddy, shocked.

"Ted, keep Christmas in your own way and let me keep it in mine," Draco replied, looking up at the wreath.

"Ah, but Uncle, you don't keep it," he said, sitting in the chair in front of the desk.

Draco slammed the dusty volume shut, saying, "Let me leave it alone then. Much good may it do you. Much good has it ever done you."

Darn it. He had gotten Teddy into one of his rants.

Teddy had stood up, and said in a very dignified tone of voice, "There are may things from which I might have derived good by which I have not profited, I daresay, Christmas among the rest. And though it has never put even a Knut in my pocket, I believe it has done me good and will do me good, so I say, God bless it."

"If you say so, Ted, but don't expect me to change my ways," Draco replied.

"Oh, don't be angry, Uncle. Come to my Christmas party I'm holding tomorrow! Your old friends will be there, as well as the Potters and the Weasleys!" Teddy said, grinning once more.

"I'd rather not, if you don't mind," said the irritable Draco, sliding the volume back onto the shelf and pulling out another.

"Oh, but Uncle, why?" asked Teddy.

"Why?" snarled Draco, turning to face him. "Why did you get married?"

Teddy replied, "Why, because I fell in love with a wonderful girl. Miss Victorie Weasley, now Mrs. Victorie Lupin."

"Oh, Daddy, didn't you know that? People get married because they fall in love! Just like you and Mommy!" Violet giggled, snuggling closer to her father. "Besides, everyone knows why Teddy married Victorie. They snog more often than not!"

"Oh, Vi, will you ever learn?" asked her mother. "Now shush, I need to finish this story!"

"Why yes, Ted. You fell in love. I, for one, fell in love with solitude," snapped Draco, scratching out a few more numbers.

"Oh, but Uncle, you never came to see me even before I was married to Victorie, why use it as a reason for not coming now?" asked Teddy.

"Good afternoon, Ted," he snapped.

"I am dreadfully sorry to find you so set in your ways, but I attempt to pay homage to Christmas, and I'll keep that good spirit 'till the last. So, a Merry Christmas to you, Uncle!" Teddy said.

"Good afternoon, Ted," he said through clenched teeth.

"And a Happy New Year!" he replied good-naturedly.

"Good afternoon, Ted," he said, motioning for him to leave.

Teddy disapparated with a pop, and then the doorbell rang.

Draco sighed. "Bells. Is it necessary to always have bells?"

Placing his quill down, he poked his head out of the office. "Weasley!"

As the ringing became more persistent, he yelled again, "Weasley!"

"Yes, sir?" he asked.

"The bell, fool! See to it!" Draco said, sticking his head back into the office.

"Yes, sir," he replied sullenly.

"Merry Christmas. Wolves howling and a Merry Christmas," Draco muttered under his breath.

"Harry! Glad to see you! I-" began Weasley.

"Sorry Ron, here strictly on business today," came the voice of the Boy-Now-Man-Who-Lived.

"Ah, the orphanage not doing as well as planned?" asked a sympathetic Weasley.

"Yes, I-" he started.

Draco had looked out into the room, and said, "Why, Mr. Weasley, I thought it was for me, as you're not receiving callers."

"Yes, sir," he said again.

"Hello, Malfoy," said Potter. "You see, at this festive season of the year-"

"It's winter and cold," he replied sharply, picking up the quill once more.

"Well yes, but if I could inquire about a small donation-"

"Nothing."

"So you wish to be left anonymous?" he said.

"I wish to be left alone. Since you ask me what I wish, Potter, that is my answer. I don't make myself merry at Christmas, and can't afford to make idle people merry. I help to support Azkaban and the workhouses, they cost enough, and those who are poorly off must go there."

"Ah, but Malfoy, many can't go there, and some would rather die!"

"If they're going to die, they'd better do it, and decrease the surplus population!" he spat, ushering him out back onto the streets of Diagon Alley.

"Shame on you, Daddy! That is rude!" she said angrily.

"Sweetie, change the story in my favor?" said Draco from behind the Prophet.

"No," replied Hermione. "Shush, both of you."

"WEASLEY! Latch the door. Draft as cold as Christmas blowing in here. WEASLEY!" he bellowed at his clerk.

"Well, sir, tomorrow is Christmas, and-" he began.

"I suppose you want the day off?"

"Well, if it's quite convenient, sir, it's only once a year, sir."

"It's not convenient and it's not fair. Expect a man to empty his Gringotts vault on December the twenty fifth?"

"Well, sir-"

"Be here at dawn the next morning then."

"Yes, sir."

Weasley set out into Diagon Alley, heading home.

"Merry Christmas, sir!" he said.

"Codswallop," he replied, apparating to Malfoy Manor, and tromping up to the large front door.